Reflections
by Wolf126
Summary: A fatherly Subject Delta reflects upon Eleanor before he dies. One-shot.


_Character(s): Subject Delta and Eleanor Lamb. _

_Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. _Bioshock 2 _belongs solely to its rightful owner(s)._

_Constructive criticism is, as always, welcome. No flames, if you please. And don't forget to review!_

* * *

**Reflections**

**oOoOo**

In the beginning, my creators called me the first. They said that I was unique, that I was the first "Big Daddy" to successfully bond with my "Little Sister." They said a lot of things to each other, over my head, as if I was deaf, dumb, and incapable of understanding. And for the longest time, I was. I didn't understand.

Instead, I was filled with a singular purpose. Everything I understood revolved around one thing: One little girl who was the epitome of perfection. And it was my job, my duty, to protect her, to lay down my life in exchange for hers if anyone tried to harm her. It was a duty I wholeheartedly threw myself into. I did not ask why.

But now I do understand. My understanding is limited, of course, but it is there. I know now that science made me the way I am, turned me into a monster, but she always gave me hope. She offered me redemption.

During our short time together, she was an attentive child. She made dolls in my own likeness, sang to me if only to keep the silence at bay, cared for me in a way no one else did, and, for all that, I was grateful. She cared for me in ways I could not care for her. She was my light in the darkness. She was the only one who viewed me, not as a monster, but as a devoted father, a protector, and a friend. Somehow, when I was with her, my image mattered very little. She was my voice, my conscience, and I loved her the moment I first laid eyes upon her.

I knew not what compelled me to, but I knew instinctively that I must protect this one little girl from the rest of the world, even unto my dying breath. I could offer nothing less. Her ulterior purpose, and mine, mattered very little. For me, she was my purpose.

And I threw myself into the role of protector eagerly, devotedly. We were each other's whole world, the only thing that truly mattered. Indeed, I was not like other "Daddies." I would tenderly lift her out of the vents she whimsically called her "hidey-holes," check her over for any injuries, and set her down on the ground gently, as if she might break if I weren't careful. She would grasp my hand tightly, drag me down hallways and avenues in search of the "angels" that constantly called to her. She always wanted to play. I viewed it all with amusement as she flitted here and there like a butterfly, though I do not know where I've seen this creature before. In another life, perhaps? A dream? I tried my best to play her games, but I was not the ideal playmate. I was large, cumbersome, and slow. I could not play the games she could, and yet she always indulged me by trying anyway.

It is for this reason that I always did as she asked. I always came when she called.

They said I was special, but I now know the truth. She was the one who made me special. After my awakening, every audio recording I picked up was another reinforcement of this knowledge. It stirred my fatherly pride because she was intelligent, because she knew what her mother was doing was wrong, because she had never forgotten me, and because she had always been mine.

Even now, I understand everything. And I know that where I am now is where I was always meant to be — in my daughter's arms.

Eleanor — my daughter in all but blood.

Filled with an overwhelming sense of peace that I cannot explain, I watch her, my daughter. Tears streak down her face, catching the morning light, and a more beautiful sight I have never seen. But I know that she shouldn't be crying for me. If anything, she should be crying for herself. I know I would if only I knew how. If only I was strong enough, I'd raise my hand and wipe away her tears, letting her know it's alright — that we both knew this was meant to be.

_"And then, Father, the Rapture dream was over. You taught me that 'evil' is just a word. Under the skin, it's simple pain. For you, mercy was a victory. You sacrificed. You endured. And when given the chance, you forgave. Always." _

We both knew that Rapture was not a place for a child. That was where Sofia Lamb was wrong. But I gave Eleanor something better than a manifest destiny — I gave her a future all her own. My only regret was that I would not live to see it, to help her along every step of the way, to protect her against everything that might cause harm.

_"Mother believed that this world was irredeemable, but she was wrong, Father. We are utopia, you and I. And in forgiving, we left the door open for her."_

What do I care about utopia? Whether Ryan's or Lamb's, it hardly matters. Both were flawed. Both had victims. Eleanor and I both knew this firsthand. All I ever cared about was this one little girl who is not a little girl anymore, but a grown woman. What matters is her drives, her memories, her passions, her happiness. And if Sofia Lamb should die, it is for this alone: Her disregard for Eleanor as a human being. To Lamb, Eleanor had always been nothing more than a tool.

It's ironic — is it not? — that I care more about Eleanor than her own biological mother. It is for this reason, I suppose, that Eleanor never forgot me.

We are not at all unlike, Sofia Lamb and I. She made Eleanor her life's work in the same way I did. The difference? I cared. I cared about Eleanor's hopes, dreams, and happiness — I listened mutely to her while she explained them, and they filled me with hope for a brighter tomorrow. Not for myself, but for her. By my standards, I was irredeemable. But that didn't mean she also had to be.

I wish I had the strength to remove my helmet one last time, to let her see my smile. I want to tell her that she truly is my daughter, that I'm proud of her. More importantly, I want to tell her that I love her. Something Sofia Lamb never said. I cannot, however, find the words. They are alien to me.

_"The Rapture dream is over, but in waking, I am reborn. This world is not ready for me, yet here I am. It would be so easy to misjudge them. You are my conscience, Father, and I need you to guide me."_

Eleanor tenderly places my hands in my lap, in a posture reminiscent of the "angels," and raises the needle. I nod, reassuringly. I know what comes next, and await it eagerly. Should I die from my wounds, I will simply reawaken in Rapture, forever apart from my dear daughter at the bottom of the sea — a fate worse than death. And she knows this, too. But by removing the ADAM from my body, I will be with her, always. I will forever be her strong and silent guardian. She will never be alone. Her pain will be my pain, and her happiness will be my happiness — the way it was always meant to be.

Because she was the best thing Rapture ever gave me. The only thing Rapture ever gave me.

She plunges the needle into my chest, and I can feel myself slipping away. It isn't a pleasant sensation, nor is it an unpleasant one. It simply is. I continue to watch her as I slip away, as the light illuminates a beauty in her that I always knew was there.

Thankfully, she is the last thing I see before my world disappears completely and I am at total peace.

_ "You will always be with me now, Father. Your memories. Your drives. And when I need you, you'll be there on my shoulder, whispering."_


End file.
